from my hand. She saw this feast of two warrior-friends, and came within
a few paces of us. I threw her a piece of the venison, which she took,
and ate of it.
"Our meat was now gone, and we moved nearer to the stream. I awoke early
in the morning. Wambelee was uneasy, and stared continually into the
gray dusk. I looked in the same direction, and I saw four black-tail
deer approaching the water to drink. I had tied one end of Wambelee's
lariat to a young sapling, and let him sit by me, concealed under the
bushes. He had a long lariat. When the deer were almost upon us, I took
my sharpest arrow and shot the buck deer. At the same time Wambelee
secured a fawn. Now we were rich, for we had all the meat we wanted!
"When we first moved our camp, the eagle woman did not like it, because
she did not understand. But again she came every day and got rations for
herself and her eaglets on the nest. It was a day's run for a warrior
from the Eagle's Nest butte to the place where we were upon the Wounded
Knee.
"I was now strong and able to walk a short distance. Wambelee and Hooyah
had become my good friends. They feared me no longer. One day I said to
him:
"'My friend, you have saved my life. I am strong again, and I shall
return to my people. You also must go back to your children. I have
three in my lodge, and you should have as many. See, I will give you a
necklace--a brave's necklace--before you go.'
"I took one claw from my necklace of bears' claws, and tied it about his
neck with a leather thong. I also cut a little figure of a man out of a
deer's hoof, and tied it to the eagle woman's neck.
"'You have been a faithful and brave wife to my friend Wambelee,' I said
to her. 'You shall have this for a token from his friend.'
"Then I released Wambelee. He stepped aside, but showed no sign of
going. The eagle woman simply busied herself with cutting out a piece
of venison to take to her hungry children.
"'I see that you are true friends. I will take two feathers from each of
you,' I said.
"I took two feathers from each and stuck them in my head. The eagle
woman rose with the meat, but Wambelee still stood by me. I said, 'Go,
friend, it is time,' and reluctantly he rose and followed her.
"When they had left me it was lonely, and I could not stay. I took my
lariat and my weapons and walked slowly up the creek, which was then
called Blacktail Creek. From that day it has been known as the Wounded
Knee.
"Before sunset, Wambelee came back to see where I was. I was compelled
to travel very slowly, and they watched and followed me from day to day
until I reached home. There I was as one returned from the dead.
"Nor is this all. In my journeyings these two have many times come near
me. I have a signal-call for them, and they have one for me. They have
been my guide to game, and I have shared my game with them."
Opagela thus ended his story. Matoska had listened with an attentive
ear and a respect that bordered upon reverence.
"It is well, friend," he said, finally, with marked significance.
The two old eagles had busied themselves meanwhile with their game,
eating a part and preparing part to take to their children. They now
showed signs of age. Their coats were of a brownish color, and their
tail-feathers creamy white.
Opagela filled his pipe and held it toward them in token of his good
wishes. Then he offered it to his companion.
"We shall smoke," he said, "to their long life and success in hunting."
Matoska silently nodded assent.
"And how is it, friend, that you kill so many eagles?" he asked, at
last.
"I have never killed one," said Opagela. "I have caught many, but
without harm to them. I take several of the tail-feathers and let them
go. Because I have always many eagle feathers, the warriors think that I
kill them.
"Sinkpay both captures and kills them," he continued. "He makes a fish
out of a water-soaked log. He whittles it to the shape of a fish, puts
a weight on it, and ties it to a long rope which he holds from the shore
of a certain lake. You know the eagle is a good fisherman, and when he
sees from a great height the make-believe fish of Sinkpay, he drops down
very swiftly and buries his claws deeply in the spongy wood. Then
Sinkpay pulls this wooden fish to shore with the eagle clinging to it,
because he cannot pull out his long, crooked talons. Always his greed is
his destruction," concluded the hunter.
"And how do you catch yours?" quoth Matoska.
"Upon a hill frequented by eagles, I dig a hole and lie in it, covered
with brush, and holding up a freshly killed rabbit. The eagle sees the
rabbit a great way off, and he will immediately shoot down and seize it.
I catch him by the leg and pull him down into the hole. There I tie his
feet and pull out several of his tail-feathers.
"You will never catch an eagle twice with the same trick. My old friends
know all about it, and delight to play with me by tearing the skin of
the bait while hovering out of reach."
"And how do you recognize those two old eagles?" again asked Matoska.
"I know them as well as you know one man from another. You cannot doubt
me, for you see their necklaces.
"I have kept this matter sacred and secret for many years. It is not
well to talk of the favors of the Great Mystery. But you have seen my
friend the sky warrior and his wife, therefore I told it to you. You
will not speak of it?" the old hunter asked his friend, who nodded
gravely. The two old eagles, laden with their prey, flew heavily away in
the direction of the Eagle's Nest.
A Founder of Ten Towns
Upon a grassy plateau, overlooking the flats of the Owl River, was
spread out Pezpeza's town. The borders of the table-land were defined by
the river's bed, and it was sufficiently high for the little inhabitants
to command the valley both up and down for a considerable distance.
Shungela Pahah, or Fox Ridge, stretched upward on the horizon, and the
rough country back of it formed many ravines and gulches for the
solitary habitations of wolves and foxes.
No prettier site could be imagined for a town of the prairie-dog people,
among whom there is no more enterprising frontiersman than Pezpeza.
Although it was situated in plain view of one of the large summer camps
of the wild Sioux, the little people had been left unmolested. The wild
men lived then in the midst of the greatest game region of the Dakotas,
and, besides, they had always looked upon the little mound-builders as
having once been real people like themselves.
All over the plateau, which was semicircular in form, were scattered
hundreds of mounds, and on that particular morning, when the early Sioux
hunter rode by upon his favorite pony, every house was alive with the
inhabitants. Upon the mounds of the old deserted houses stood the
faithful and good neighbor, Pezpeza ta ayanpahalah, Pezpeza's herald,
the owl; for if any house is left vacant, he immediately occupies it.
Here and there, upon a sun-baked mound, lay coiled the other neighbor,
Sintayhadah, the rattlesnake.
The herald had announced the coming of the wild Red man upon his hunting
pony; therefore every prairie-dog had repaired to the top of the mound
beside his dwelling. Some stood upon their hind-legs, that they might
better see for themselves the approaching danger, and from this place of
safety they all shrilly scolded the intruders; while the little herald,
who had done his duty and once more fulfilled his unspoken contract
with his hosts to be their scout and crier, perched calmly upon a
chosen mound and made his observations.
In the middle of the town, upon a large mound, there stood an unusually
large dog. When the warning was given, he had slowly dragged himself
outside. His short, thick fur was much yellower than that of the others,
a sign of advancing age; and while the citizens were noisy in their
protests, he alone was silent. It was Pezpeza, the founder of this town
and of many another, the experienced traveller. His old friend, the
faithful herald, who had just given warning, perched not far away. These
two had journeyed together and shared each other's hardships, but
Pezpeza was the prime mover in it all, and there was none wiser than he
among his people.
Pezpeza's biographer and interpreter tells thus of his wonderful
frontier life and adventures.
Pezpeza was one of many children of an old couple who lived upon the
Missouri River bottoms. He had learned while yet small that the little
prairie-owl was their very good neighbor and friend. He had repaired
and occupied one of their abandoned houses. It was generally understood
by the little mound-builders that this quiet, unassuming bird notifies
them of approaching danger; and, having no bad habits, the prairie-dogs
had tacitly accepted them as desirable and useful townsfolk. The owl,
for his part, finds a more convenient home and better food in the towns
than he could possibly find elsewhere, for there are plants peculiar to
the situation which attract certain insects, mice, and birds, and these
in turn furnish food for the owls.
Their common neighbor, the rattlesnake, lay at times under a strong
suspicion of treachery, and was not liked any too well by the other two.
However, the canny and cold-hearted snake had proved his usefulness
beyond any doubt, and was accepted under strict and well-understood
conditions. He was like the negro in the South--he was permitted to
dwell in the same town, but he must not associate with the other two
upon equal terms. It is clear that the dog and the owl together could
whip and terrorize the snake and force him to leave the premises at any
time if they felt so disposed, but there is a sufficient reason for
allowing him to remain. The wolf, coyote, fox, swift, and badger, all
enemies of the little mound-builders, will not linger long in the
neighborhood of rattlesnakes, and this is equally true of the Red
hunter. The coyote and badger could easily lie flat behind the mound and
spring upon the prairie-dog when he comes out of his hole. The Sioux boy
could do the same with his horse-hair noose. But these wild hunters,
with full knowledge of the deadly rattlesnake, dare not expose
themselves in such a fashion. The snake, on his side, gets his food much
easier there than anywhere else, since all kinds of small birds come
there for seeds. Further, his greatest enemies are certain large birds
which do not fear his poison, but swoop down, seize him, and eat him in
mid-air. From this danger he is safer in a dog-town than elsewhere,
owing to the multitude of holes, which are ingeniously dug upward and
off at one side from the main burrow, and are much better than the snake
can provide for himself.
Pezpeza was like all the young people of his tribe. He loved play, but
never played with the snake young people--on the contrary, he would
stand at a safe distance and upbraid them until they retired from his
premises. It was not so with the children of the little herald, the owl.
In fact, he had played with them ever since he could remember, and the
attachment between them became permanent. Wherever Pezpeza goes, the
little owl always comes and sits near-by upon some convenient mound. If
any hawk is in sight, and if he should see it first, he would at once
give the warning and Pezpeza would run for his house.
Every day some prairie-dog left the town in quest of a new home. The
chief reason for this is over-population--hence, scarcity of food; for
the ground does not yield a sufficient quantity for so many.
One morning, as he was coming out of their house, Pezpeza found his
father lying dead within the entrance. At first he would not go by, but
at last he left the house, as did the rest of the family. None returned
to their old home. The mother and children built a new house on the edge
of the town, dangerously near a creek, and the old homestead was after
that owned by a large rattlesnake family who had always loafed about
the place. The new home was a good one, and the new ground yielded an
abundant crop, but they were harassed by the wolves and wild-cats,
because they were near the creek and within easy approach.
Pezpeza was out feeding one morning with a brother when all at once the
owl gave the warning. They both ran for the house, and Pezpeza got in
safe, but his brother was carried off by a wolf.
When he came out again, the place was not like what it used to be to
him. He had a desire to go somewhere else, and off he started without
telling any one. He followed an old buffalo-trail which lay over the
plain and up the Owl River.
The river wound about among the hills and between deeply cut banks,
forming wide bottom-lands, well timbered with cottonwoods. It was a warm
day of blue haze in the early spring, and Pezpeza ran along in excellent
spirits. Suddenly a warning screech came from behind, and he lay flat,
immovable, upon the path. Ah, it is his friend the young herald, the owl
playmate! The owl had seen his young friend run away over the prairie,
so he flew to join him, giving no thought to his people or his own
affairs.
The herald flew ahead and perched upon a convenient mound until his
friend came up; then he went ahead again. Thus the two travelled over
the plain until they came to a point where many buffalo skulls lay
scattered over the ground. Here, some years before, the Red men had
annihilated a herd of buffalo in a great hunt.
As usual, the herald flew ahead and took up his position upon a buffalo
skull which lay nose downward. The skull was now bleached white, but the
black horns were still attached to it. The herald sat between these
horns.
Meanwhile Pezpeza was coming along the buffalo-path at a fairly good
speed. Again he heard the danger-call and ran for the nearest skull to
hide. He was glad to find that the thin bones of the nose were gone, so
that he could easily enter it. He was not any too quick in finding a
refuge, for a large eagle swooped down with a rush and sat by the skull.
Pezpeza had crouched in the inner cavity, and when he was discovered he
made a great show of indignation and fight. But the eagle, having made a
careful study of the position of his intended victim, finally flew away,
and in due time Pezpeza proceeded on his journey.
He did not go far, but when he had found a level, grassy plateau,
commanding all the approaches, he began without delay to dig a home for
himself, for he is not safe a moment without a home. The herald sat a
little way off upon a stray bowlder, and occasionally he would fly out
for a short distance and then return.
The sun hovered over Fox Ridge, and long columns of shadow were cast by
the hills. Pezpeza, weary with his journey and the work of digging a
home at least deep enough for a night's occupancy, had laid himself away
in it to sleep. The herald, as usual, constituted himself a night-watch,
and perched upon the newly made mound. There he sat with his head sunk
deep in his soft feathers.
No sooner had the sun set in the west than the full moon appeared in the
east, but the owl still sat motionless. He did not move even when a gray
wolf came trotting along the buffalo-trail. When he came opposite the
mound he stopped and held his muzzle low. At last he cautiously
advanced, and when he was dangerously near the owl flew away and the
wolf rushed upon the mound, and stood for a while peering into the hole.
It was now the herald's turn to annoy. It is true he cannot do anything
more than bluff, but he is skilled in that. Especially at night, his
gleaming eyes and the snapping of his bill, together with his
pretentious swoop, make even the gray wolf nervous, and it was not long
before he had decided to go farther.
The next morning the enterprising town-builder earnestly went about
completing his home, although one could see only the little mound and
the cup-shaped entrance--all else was deep underground. Every day there
were arrivals, singly or in couples, and now and then a whole family.
Nearly all brought their heralds with them, and these, likewise, came
singly or in pairs. Immediately, each couple would go to work to prepare
a dwelling for themselves, for they are not safe without them, and,
besides, they seem to believe in independent homes. Thus in one moon
the town became a respectably large one.
Shunkmanitoo, the wolf, had many a time trotted over the plateau and
seen either a lone buffalo bull grazing or lying down chewing his cud,
or an antelope standing cautiously in the middle that he might better
see the approach of any danger. Now, after a few days' absence, he found
a flourishing village, and one by no means devoid of interest and
attraction.
Every bright day the little people played "catch-the-laugh." It is so
called by the Red people. When all were outside their houses, one would
jump into the air and make a peculiar sound, half squeak and half growl.
The nearest one would take it up, and so on throughout the village. All
would rise on their hind-feet and bob up and down, at the same time
giving the peculiar cry. This performance they repeat whenever they are
happy.
Pezpeza's town was now quite populous. But he was not the mayor; he did
not get any credit for the founding of the town; at least as far as the
Red people could observe. Their life and government seemed to be highly
democratic. Usually the concentration of population produced a certain
weed which provided abundance of food for them. But under some
conditions it will not grow; and in that case, as soon as the native
buffalo-grass is eaten up the town is threatened with a famine, and the
inhabitants are compelled to seek food at a distance from their houses.
This is quite opposed to the habit and safety of the helpless little
people. Finally the only alternative will be the desertion of the town.
Thus it happened that Pezpeza, when the buffalo-grass was all gone about
his place, began to realize the necessity of finding a new home. The
ground was not adapted to the crop that generally grew in a prairie-dog
town. One morning he was compelled to go beyond the limits of the
village to get his breakfast, and all at once the thought of going off
in search of a good town-site seized him strongly. He consulted no one,
not even his best friend, the owl. He simply ran away up the river.
The buffalo-trails were many and well beaten. He followed one of
them--he knew not whither. The herald soon discovered his departure and
again followed his friend. Pezpeza was glad to see him fly past and take
the lead, as usual.
The trail now led them to the brow of the table-land. Below them, along
the river-bottoms, great herds of buffalo grazed among the shady
cottonwood groves, and the path led down the slope. It was safer for the
little town-maker to get among the big, burly bison, for the wolf does
not go among them at such times. It is usually just beyond the herd that
he peeps from behind the hills, watching for a chance to attack an
isolated cow.
The buffalo did not pay any attention to the little fellow running on
the trail and almost under their feet. They even allowed the herald to
perch upon an old bull's back in order to keep within sight of his
friend. Through the great herd the two proceeded. It was hot, and the
grass was all eaten off close to the ground. There was no food for the
little traveller.
He had descried a fair plateau on the opposite side of the Owl River as
he came down the hill, and his mind was fixed upon this land. He was
heading for the river, but found himself much hampered by the
increasing number of the buffalo.
At the edge of the bank which marked the old bed of the stream Pezpeza
came to a stand-still. Here the trail entered the woods and the bison
followed it in single file. As they skirted the bank they passed so near
him that their broad backs were almost within his reach, and some of
them stopped for a moment to rub themselves against its steep sides.
Finally there came an old bull with horns worn almost to the skull. He
stopped just below Pezpeza and dug his stumpy horn into the earth wall,
and Pezpeza sprang gently upon his back and flattened himself out as
thin as he could.
The bull did not suspect that anything unusual had happened. He supposed
that what he felt was merely a lump of dirt that he had loosened with
his horns, and off he walked quite unconcernedly on the trail towards
the river. Many of his people were already crossing, and he followed
them. The herald was perched upon the back of another bull, and so the
pair crossed the Owl River.
There was a broad meadow-land through which the trail led up on the
other side until it lost itself in a sage-bush plain. Here the bison
scattered to graze, and many followed the ravines for better grass.
Pezpeza let himself slide from the bull's back, who gave a jump and a
snort, but it was too late to enter a protest.
The little town-builder now began his work as faithfully as before, and
soon founded another large town. But again the misfortunes of life
compelled him and his friend to leave the place. Thus they travelled up
the river, now upon one side and now the other, and never more than a
day's journey. More than once Pezpeza found a mate, and he raised many a
family; but, like a true pioneer, he could never remain long in an old
and overcrowded town.
His tenth and last home was the beautiful table-land at the junction of
Owl River with Lost Creek. As has been described in the beginning, it
was a semicircular plain of large extent and commanded a striking view.
At the very head of the embankment, which sloped abruptly down to the
river level, there stood a number of large grassy mounds, and among them
were several peculiar structures composed of poles placed upright in
the ground with others arranged horizontally so as to form a sort of
shelter.
The town-maker gave no serious thought to these things. The grass upon
the plateau was excellent, and he set to work at once, selecting a site
for his home near the centre of the plain, for greater safety. Every day
new-comers came, and it was a source of satisfaction to him that his
selection was such as every prairie-dog could not but approve. In a few
days the town was fairly started.
There arrived one day a family who took up their claim close by
Pezpeza's place. In this family there was a pretty maid, according to
Pezpeza's notion and fancy. There was no reason why he should not think
so, for he was now a widower, a wolf having carried off his faithful
mate of several years' standing. It was soon noticed by the other little
people that the pretty maid with garments the color of the buffalo-grass
in autumn had gone to live with Pezpeza.
Pezpeza's town was now a place of respectable size, well known in all
that region. The coyote and gray wolf knew it well; the Red man also,
for, as I said in the beginning, their favorite summer camp was not far
away, and there they were wont to dance the "sun dance" at every
midsummer.
At times the Red men were seen to come and roam, singing, around the
large mounds and the curious scaffolds, and before they went away they
would place one of their number upon a new scaffold or heap another
mound. Still the little people gave no thought to these strange actions.
Many, many of their tribe came from all directions, until Pezpeza's town
might almost be called a city. Many children were born there. The
plateau was alive with the little mound-builders, who constantly built
their homes farther and farther out, till at last some had built right
under the Red men's scaffolds and hard by the large mounds, which were
the graves of their dead.
Pezpeza's ground did not yield its usual crop any more. His children
were all grown and had homes of their own. For some reason he did not
care to go far away, so the old folks simply moved out to the edge of
the town.
Pezpeza was now old and very large and fat. Never had he known for so
long a time a happy home as in the town upon the "scaffold plain," as
the place was called by the Red people. When they came to visit the
graves of their dead they had never troubled the little mound-builders,
therefore the old founder of many towns did not think of danger when he
built very near to one of the scaffolds, and there were others who did
the same.